“Are you jealous?”
“Not at all. Love makes you vulnerable. Besides, I’ll quite enjoy showing your young stallions a thing or two.”
“So confident,” she drawled, giving him back a sultry smile. “I’ll never ask you to my bed, and even if I did, they’d challenge you.”
“Good,” he purred, stretching out more fully on the cloth. “I love a good fight. I Dance the Blades very well.”
“I thought you said you didn’t like fighting with swords.”
He blinked, genuinely confused. “When did I say that?”
“The first time we met at the lake of tears. You said they expected you to fight with swords, and you were none too happy about it. Don’t you remember?”
Guarded, he didn’t answer. Shadows thickened around him, so cold she shivered.
“You don’t,” she breathed. “Who are you?”
“I don’t know.” He whispered so softly she strained to hear him. “I had a dream. I found myself here. I don’t remember much about what came before.”
“What happened in the dream?”
He sank lower into his shadows, averting his face. “The Black Dragon ate me.” He laughed, but it sounded forced and tight. “Now I find myself very good with the sword and scimitar. I know a new language. I live among savages and fit in very well indeed.”
“Where were you before?” His answers so far brought a nagging sense of dread to the pit of her stomach. Who had he been before he became the Black Dragon and a Keldari warrior? Why was he so familiar? “What do you remember?”
“Everywhere.” He shrugged. “You.” He turned back and met her gaze. “That’s all I truly remember.” He flicked his gaze up at the moon and a faint shudder shook his shoulders. “The moon is my purpose.”
And I am She Who Hung the Moon. She held herself very still, watching his face and hands for any sign of subterfuge. He couldn’t meet her gaze. His voice and manner seemed perfectly reluctant, even slightly ashamed and upset. She knew him to be a consummate actor, but she felt the echo of sincere vulnerability. However, she had a feeling this man would use any weapon at his disposal, especially if he could play up a weakness or fear and win her sympathy.
I must never trust him. One moment of weakness and he’ll be on me quicker than my own Council.
Keeping her voice light, she asked, “So you lead the tals to Shanhasson to kill me.”
He jerked his gaze up to hers and let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Lead them? You must not know much about the Keldari, brightheart. They have a saying here: My brother is my enemy, unless my cousin threatens; the tribes are my enemies unless a munakuri threatens. No one man could ever hope to lead them. I certainly don’t direct them to kill you.”
She snorted, which wasn’t as effective as the dragon’s derision. “Of course you don’t.”
“Did I not come to your aid when the horse king dragged you toward death?”
Now it was her turn to hide her face, fighting to conceal the pain and anger that warred in her heart. “Why did you do that?”
Lying flat on his back, he stared up at the night sky, but even the moon’s brightness couldn’t dispel the shadows cloaking him. “Such a simple question, with so many complex answers. You won’t believe me, but I don’t want you to die. I certainly didn’t want you to die that way without a fight.”
“You’d rather I fight you.”
He chuckled softly. “I’d rather you did a great many things with me, including fight. We’re dragons at heart, and dragons mate with blood and violence.”
“I’m not mating you or any man ever again.” The words rang in the air, her tone harsh and vehement. Her hands trembled, so she gripped them in her lap, fighting for calm. She couldn’t play this deadly game with him if she lost her temper or struck in fear. “I mated twice and they both died. I’ll never mate again. I’ll never bear another daughter that men will plot to corrupt or kill, simply because they carry my blood.”
“You misunderstand me, brightheart,” he said gently, his voice the whisper of night air through dragon wings. Shadows thinned enough for her to see the shape of his mouth and the gleam of his silver eyes in the murk. “I know better than anyone that you never love just one. You were cursed to great love. When I say mate, I merely plot and scheme so I may wallow in that love, too.”
She laughed, a short burst that startled her. “Wallow?”
His eyes closed, banking the molten glow of his eyes. He arched his back slightly, his head rolling side to side. “Oh, yes,” he breathed. “I want you rubbing yourself all over me, frantic to get my scent on you, every inch of you burning and inflamed with need.”
She fought to keep her face hard and smooth, instead of betraying the melting fire his words stoked. His scent filled her nose, stirring her hunger. She wanted blood, his, filling her mouth, his scent rubbed into her scales.
Swallowing hard, she forced her mind to catalogue everything she knew about him. Black Dragon, obviously shadowed, savage of the desert sands with a mysterious past that made her inner alarms come to full alert. He was too dangerous to even contemplate letting anywhere near her, let alone into her bed, no matter how much the thought set her blood on fire.
“Wells.” Rolling closer, he inched a hand through the sand toward her thigh. “I forgot how incredible you smell when you’re in heat.”
Claws flashed where his fingers should have been.
She slammed her knee on his elbow and pinned his advancing arm beneath her weight. The fingertips on her right hand felt like they’d burst into flame, so she shoved that hand into his groin and hoped she had matching talons. Gripping all that tender flesh, she squeezed harder. “Keep your claws off me.”
“This is even better,” he purred.
He wasn’t worried enough. She squeezed harder, drawing a wheezing chuckle from his throat. His clothing melted into shadows, leaving bronzed, lean muscle beneath her. Faint markings trailed across his chest and down his arms, darkening near his hands. Scales. They gleamed just beneath his skin like iridescent black tattoos.
His roasted sandalwood heated, thick in the night air. Despite her claws digging into that tender flesh, she felt him harden. She shifted her grip to only his balls, refusing to give him any pleasure.
“You still haven’t been able to enter the holy city.” He pushed his hips against her hand so she either had to back off or draw blood. “Your horse king and shadow killer wait with open arms, their adorable little daughters playing in the sweet green grass and riding Vulkar’s own children, yet you suffer, alone. Your Lady has barred you from your great loves. Why is that, do you think?”
“I’m not alone.” Her throat ached, her heart torn and shredded again. “I have my Blood.”
“And me, brightheart. You have me.”
She snarled and twisted her hand deeper. “Never.”
“You want me and you know it. Your scent cannot lie.” He threw his head back and breathed deeply, his chest rumbling on a low invitation. “The fiery Stallion and His Broodmare have tortured you enough. They’ve given you great love only to rip them away and leave you bleeding and alone. You did everything They wanted. You sacrificed your blood, risked your own and your unborn daughters’ lives to defeat the shadowed king who dared to foul Her precious High Throne. Now They leave you weeping each night in a cold, empty bed. Why not turn to me, brightheart? Why not let me give you the solace you deserve after so much suffering?”
“Shut your filthy mouth, blackheart” she ground out, shaking with fury. “The Gods have a purpose that we can never possibly understand.”
Those words rang empty and dull to her own ears. Once, she’d believed that love was the greatest gift of all. That was before she’d watched her loves sacrifice their lives to ensure the Last Daughter’s destiny was fulfilled. Is this all there is? Did I lose my heart and soul, only so I might take the High Throne?
He stared up at her, his eyes shining in the moonlight. Shadows peeled back enough for her to
almost see his face. High forehead and cheekbones created valleys of shadows where his silver eyes gleamed. “I, too, have a purpose, brightheart, and I assure you, I refuse to fail this time.”
“You bring the tals to kill me.”
“Not at all. They come to capture the White Dragon and sacrifice her into the flaming pit of Agni, He Who Burns. If you die beforehand, none of us will be named azi’Keldar.”
“And you?” She retorted, squeezing his balls again. Her talons bit too deeply. The scent of blood wafted up from his body, mingled with sandalwood and desert. Lady help her, her mouth watered at the thought of licking that blood away. “Why do you come?”
He laughed. “You know why. Or will you come first, brightheart? Your roses are nigh on fire.”
Strategy. Politics. She could ignore the temptation of his body and blood if she kept her mind on the game. “If any of your savages harm my people, my soldiers will ride you down like dogs.”
“You don’t have enough soldiers to stop us from burning a path of destruction across those Green and Beautiful Lands all the way to your Shining Walls.”
He was absolutely right. She’d seen the massive Keldari encampment. She shuddered at the images of burning villages, helpless screaming people mowed down by whooping savages swinging long sickle blades on all sides. “The Shining Walls won’t burn, they won’t fall, and they’ll never allow you into Shanhasson.”
He pushed himself harder onto her talons. His breath hissed out with pain, but his eyes burned, his scent dark and inviting. “Then I’ll fly over the Shining Walls to reach you.”
Releasing a howl of desperation, she bent over and sank her teeth high on his inner thigh. Hard, vicious, deep, she let her fear and anger blaze to brand him with her teeth, so close to his groin that his erection rubbed her cheek. A scalding river poured into her, thick hot blood, sultry with spice and shadows.
Oh, Lady, his blood. I’m giving him a tie on my soul that I’ll never be able to break.
Too late, she jerked back, but he seized a handful of her hair and held her close. He freed his other hand from beneath her knee, tumbling her against him. Dread twisted her stomach. He’d only been playing with her. He could have thrown her off him at any time. Now, with both hands buried in her hair, he dragged her deeper into the bond and the seductive embrace of Shadow.
:You’ll never be able to get me out of your heart now.:
Heart hammering, she drowned in sensation. Black wings fluttered about her. Dunes slipped and crumbled beneath them, entrapping her in a quagmire of desire and blood that she couldn’t escape. His scent and blood roared through her body.
Both hands burned, talons inching longer, sharper. Her spine twisted and cracked. Feathered wings strained inside her. The White Dragon screamed, rolling in ecstasy, wallowing in his scent and blood as he’d threatened, even while shivering in terror.
His blood pinned the dragon, too, chaining its wings with a bond it could never out fly. Despite the horror wheeling through her, she still felt the surge of lust in her body. Blood fed her desire, winding in a death spiral until pleasure crashed through her. Shuddering in his grip, she released his thigh to rub her face in his blood. It was all she could do not to bite him again and again, rolling on him, drowning in blood and sandalwood.
:Oh, my love, my brightheart.: His blood powered his mental voice of black wings beating a restless frantic rhythm to reach her, no matter how many miles of sand he must cross. :The best part of coming to you is never knowing if you’ll kill me or rut on me first.:
She could feel his blood spreading Shadow through her body, eating at her defenses until they crumbled like dust. His blood pooled in her stomach cold and hard like a ball of poisonous lead.
Shaken, she threw herself away into darkness, streaming through a night sky devoid of moon or stars. She fled, uncaring that she was running, the very thing she despised most. :Dharman!:
His bond fired within her and she raced down that shining red lifeline. Sobbing, she slammed into him. His arms wrapped around her, enclosing her in warmth and love that she didn’t deserve. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh, na’lanna,” he whispered, holding her tightly. “What happened?”
“I thought I could spy on him. I thought…” She gulped and buried her face tighter into the curve of his neck, trying to rid herself of the seductive spice of desert sands. “He has an army near Far Illione, so vast I couldn’t count them. He’s coming to Shanhasson. He’s coming for me. He said if he couldn’t burn down the Shining Walls, he’d fly over to reach me.”
“Never.” Dharman’s arms tightened so hard she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. “He’ll never take you from us.”
Shivering, she clutched him harder. “He’s inside me! He taunted me until I marked him. Oh, Dharman, his blood spreads Shadow in me. He’s inside me!”
Falling to her knees, she wretched. Dharman held her while she vomited, trying to rid her body of the blood, but it was too late. The damage had been done.
“Lady help me,” she whispered, shivering despite his chest against her cheek and his hand smoothing her hair. “He’s inside me, listening, even now. I don’t have enough soldiers to keep him out of the Green Lands. Lady above, I even sent him an invitation! What am I going to do?”
“Go to the Tenth Camp. Go see your mates and let them hold you until this fear is gone.”
She jerked her gaze up to Dharman’s. “I tried. They won’t let me in.”
His eyes gleamed with surety and love. “They will.”
Tears flowed again, shame strangling her. She’d been so arrogant, so ridiculously stupid. Duped into letting her greatest enemy get a foothold on her soul. Why was she tempted by any other man—let alone one whose hands were surely stained with blood—when she had this honorable warrior at her beck and call? When his honeycakes scent made her stomach tighten and her heart flip flop? “I never meant—”
Dharman silenced her with a kiss so sweet and gentle that she wet his hair with her tears. “Your Lady blessed you well, na’lanna. I’m not jealous of this other man, merely determined to skin him alive if he harms one hair on your head. If you want him, I’ll see to it that you get him, and if he even thinks about harming you, I’ll slit his throat and cut out his heart. That will only be the beginning of his torment, for then Gregar and Rhaekhar shall have him. Am I not your First?”
“Yes, na’lanna First Blood, but you can’t—”
“I can, and I shall.” He stood and drew her up with him, leading her hand in hand up the jagged path cut into the black mountainside. “Go to Rhaekhar. It’s beyond time for you to see him again. His strength will restore yours; his love will soothe the turmoil tangling your heart into knots.”
They reached the summit too quickly. Her stomach churned, and she was afraid to look toward the green valley. If the stone walls blocked the way, she’d fall apart. Maybe blackheart was right. Maybe the Gods had locked her out, determined to use her until every last drop of blood was sacrificed, wasted by her own people determined to see her dead.
Dharman drew her against his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, his scent warm and sweet, his arms promising no dread threat of Shadow could ever harm her. “Close your eyes, na’lanna.”
What if the Shadow was inside her? How could he protect her from the darkness spreading in her heart?
“Do you love me?”
“You know I do,” she whispered, clutching him hard.
“Do you regret loving me? Is there shame mixed with the love in your heart?”
The mark burned in her left breast. “No, never.”
“Do you love Sal?”
“Yes.”
“Love clears the way for you. Shine with love, na’lanna, and step into the Tenth Camp. I’ll be waiting here for you.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
EYES CLOSED, SHANNARI TOOK A STEP. Dharman’s arms fell away, but she was afraid to open her eyes. If she’d faile
d to cross into the Tenth Camp, she would simply wither away and die. Hope burned, her heart pounding so hard she swayed. If she could only see her beloved warriors again, and feel her sweet little girls’ arms around her neck…
:Take one more step, my heart.:
Rhaekhar’s long-missed voice echoed in her head, low and deep, aching with love and regret.
Holding her breath, she did so, and her nose pressed against a broad, muscled chest. She smelled sweet hay of the Plains, baking bread, leather, and horses. Her warrior. His arms came around her and she sobbed all over again, messy tears and choking sounds of grief and heartbreak. “You died. You left me!”
“Forgive me, na’lanna, but Vulkar Called me home.” Kneeling before her, he laid his rahke on the ground before her. “My heart is yours, Shannari dal’Dainari.”
Accusation sharpened her voice, rending his heart, she knew, but she couldn’t stop the outpouring of emotion. “You didn’t even fight. You didn’t even try to stay with me. You left me, alone, and I had to leave my babies, too. I had to go back to Shanhasson alone!”
Lightly, he laid his fingers on top of her heart. Dharman’s mark sent a jolt of sensation through her so strongly that she sucked in her breath. “Never alone, na’lanna.”
She dropped her gaze. Despite her assurances to Dharman, she still wasn’t sure if she could look Rhaekhar in the eye with the knowledge that she’d taken her two Blood to her bed and made them hers, without him at her back.
Rhaekhar laughed softly, a low rumble that thrummed her spine. He brushed his fingers over Sal’s mark on her other breast, and her knees buckled. “They were yours long before my death. Think you I would be jealous after I swore to accept them in my blankets while yet living? That I died should have only hastened them to your bed. Now kiss me, na’lanna, for it’s been an eternity since I tasted your sweet mouth.”
She sealed her mouth over his. Lady above, she would never forget the way he kissed: tender command, smoldering warrior, conquering even her broken heart and taking her grief and pain as his own. He drew her close and took her backwards so they lay on their sides facing each other on the green grass. Stretched out beside her, he simply kissed her until her tears dried, her stomach settled, and the steel returned to her spine.
Return to Shanhasson Page 17